


Summertime

by Iris_Celeno



Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: Everybody loves Christa, F/M, Fluff, Meet the Parents Part 2, Post Season 1, Romance, Sexual Content, Some humor but mostly fluff, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9823955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iris_Celeno/pseuds/Iris_Celeno
Summary: The Hudsons visit Los Angeles again, and have dinner with Neal and Christa. All sugar, with a good dose of spice at the end.Chapters 1 to 3 are rated G, chapter 4 is rated M.





	1. Ain't she sweet (prologue)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serienjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serienjunkie/gifts).



> Gift for my friend Lindsay, who loves romantic and positive stories. I hope you'll like this one. Thank you for being you :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue. Our favorite couple is waiting for his parents to arrive, and Christa is nervous...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my alternative post-S1 timeline, this story is set after the not-yet completed _Not Given Lightly_ , and it depicts the get-together planned between Neal, Christa and the Hudsons in _Open Hearts_.   
>  There are references to my other stories but this one stands on its own.   
> This chapter is Neal's POV.  
> Non beta-ed, please forgive the mistakes you might find

“Remember when I said I wouldn't be nervous?” Christa told Neal, examining her face in the mirror covering a whole wall of the restaurant's lobby with a critical eye. “Well, I was a tad too optimistic.”

She self-consciously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, winced, and replaced it around her face where it initially was.

Shaking his head, Neal drew her into his arms, his hands on her stomach, and looked at her in the mirror. It was beyond him that she didn't realize how stunning she was. After they spent the previous day outdoors for the annual Fourth of July Angels Memorial barbecue and their morning at the beach, her blond hair had natural highlights and her sun-kissed skin was complimented by a knee-length cocktail dress the color of ripe apricot, her eyes appearing clearer and bluer in contrast. In the immaculate white and grey lobby of the fancy place, devoid of any color but the dark green leaves of a huge white orchid on a pedestal table, and its atmosphere rendered cold and almost sterile by the air conditioning, it was as if she had wrapped herself into the light and summer warmth outside and brought it inside with her. It was Christa in a nutshell, he thought. 

“Stop fretting, honey.” 

“It's easy for you to say. You know your parents. You don't have to make a good impression.”

She was hilariously cranky and his attempt to smother a chuckle was a miserable fail.

“You already made a good impression.”

“As a doctor, mayyybe, not as their son's girlfriend.”

“For my father, only the former counts. Believe me. 75% of the conversation will be about medicine anyway.”

She cracked one of her adorable smiles and he leaned in for a kiss but she evaded his gesture, spinning round in his arms, her hands flat against his torso keeping him at distance. He raised a brow.

“The maître d' could come back, other clients could arrive and worse, your parents could arrive,” she enumerated. 

“They wouldn't be shocked by a peck on the lips.”

“A peck? You mean, how it started before we left home? Don't ruin my make up again.” 

In answer, he leaned over to take her earlobe between his lips and tugged lightly. She couldn't repress a shiver.

“No make-up here,” he smirked, quite satisfied with himself.

“You can be such a brat.”

She was grinning now, but still a bit jittery. 

“Seriously, Christa, you have nothing to worry about. My parents like you already and when they know you better, they'll love you. Almost as much as I do.” 

She slid her hands up his chest and shoulders, a sunny smile now gracing her lips.

“You do?”

She shouldn't smile at him so adoringly or look at him so lovingly or talk to him so sweetly if she didn't want him to ruin her make-up. It was saved by the bell, or rather by some movement he caught out of the corner of his eye. She noticed it, too, and they pulled apart, their arms finding automatically their way around each other's waist.

A taxi was now parked in front of the restaurant's glass door and his parents were getting out. His father appeared first and flashbacks of their disastrous meetings over the last years caused Neal to falter for the briefest moment. 

“This time, it will be different,” Christa whispered to him even before he could think it.

Grateful, he skimmed his hand down the side of her hip in a quiet caress. He had never imagined that he'd feel stronger instead of vulnerable if someone ever knew him as well as she did. But the way she managed to read him and appease him was a constant source of surprise and delight. He peeked a glance at her and as always, found himself drowning in the sight of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to annlina for her support :)  
> Next chapter: Asra wants to like her future daughter-in-law, Christa makes it easy. Peter tries for a more circumspect attitude, “tries” being the operative word. Christa love fest.


	2. Easy to Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asra and Peter's impressions on Christa and her relationship with their son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hudsons POV.  
> Non beta-ed, please forgive any mistake you might find.

Asra Hudson had her first glimpse at the restaurant while getting out of the cab, and contained a sigh of disappointment. Of course, the place was classy and modern, after all Peter had chosen it. But it was imposing and too impersonal. Asra loved her comfort and she loved her husband but really, she wished he had gone for something cosier and more intimate for their first dinner with Neal and their future daughter-in-law, as she stubbornly called Christa Lorenson in her head since the mulish man she married fourty years and so ago objected that she was jumping the gun.

The impression didn't last, replaced by a wave of giddiness upon discovering that her son was already in the lobby. Her son who was beaming, gazing at the woman by his side as if there was no world around them. Her usual instinctive jolt of motherly love grew into profound joy and relief. Now, she was absolutely certain.

She took Peter's hand and threw him a knowing look, to which he answered with a long-suffering breath.

“Yes, yes, you were right,” he grumbled, closing the taxi door and tapping on the roof of the car, signaling to the driver that he could leave. “But for the love of everything holy, don't cry and don't talk about linens. You're going to scare the poor girl off.”

“Isn't she beautiful?” she asked in a rush as they reached the door, her gaze now on the blonde.

“Our son isn't blind,” he conceded, opening the glass panel for her.

Of course, given her physical condition or lack thereof during her interactions with Christa Lorenson at Angels Memorial, Asra didn't pay much attention to her beyond some vague if positive impressions: Blond, pretty, gestures gentle but assured. She did observe her during the conversation she had with Neal, later, but they were standing in the half-light of the hallway and Christa was wearing scrubs.  
Of course, it wouldn't have mattered if she were the female version of Quasimodo as long as she was the one for her son. Nevertheless, her boy and the woman he had chosen made a gorgeous couple and Asra couldn't but experience a twinge of vanity. The mother who wouldn't in her stead could cast her the first stone.

Neal was wearing a suit of an almost black shade of grey, with a pearl grey tie over a white shirt; he was the poster boy for tall, dark and handsome if you asked her. In contrast, Christa was a ray of sunshine in her strapless, shoulder-baring dress, nude pumps and nude and golden clutch, her blond hair in a classic updo, small gold love knots and a discreet gold necklace adorning her ears and neck.  
Her simple and classy style definitely reassured Asra. Smart men could be so stupid sometimes, and she used to have nightmares about her son losing his head for a bimbo. 

“Ma,” Neal greeted her with an affectionate smile. 

“My darling.”

He looked so...so content. She found no trace of that broodiness, that air of melancoly he'd had about him since he turned eight. It overwhelmed her and, ignoring the most basic rules of etiquette, she stepped into her boy's arms and hugged him. 

She heard Christa and her husband exchange polite greetings, noted a certain warmth in Peter's voice. He was wary of strangers and protective of his family; it could take months or even years before he accepted someone in their inner circle. If not for the extraordinary circumstances of their first meeting with Christa, the ice wouldn't have been broken so easily. One more sign in her book that it was meant to be. 

“Please forgive my wife,” he was saying. 

“It's only normal,” Christa opposed.

Asra turned towards her, and she wasn't surprised to find an artless smile illuminating the other woman's face. The slight longing in her gaze as she watched her holding her son, on the other hand, was most unexpected...and most pleasant. 

So, Christa wanted children. 

She admitted to being a nosy mother. Nevertheless, more than four decades by the side of the most private man on Earth and probably beyond had rubbed off on her and although she was eager -fine, dying- to know more about Christa, she would wait until they were more acquainted and for information to be provided freely. She had only asked her son if his girlfriend had children, so as to include them in their plans in case she did, and Neal's split second hesitation before answering _no_ had left a little dust of worry in her thoughts.  
Yes, she knew that Alicia, at least, would give her grandchildren. But he was her first-born, he loved kids, and he'd make a wonderful father. It was a relief to know that if Christa was yet to be a mother at her age, it wasn't for lack of desire to become one. 

“I'm sorry, indeed. Since we weren't formally introduced...” 

“Maybe we don't need to be formal?” Christa greeted tentatively, stretching out her hand. “Nice to see you again, Mrs Hudson.”

“Asra,” she specified, finding herself smiling back more broadly than she intended. There was something unassuming about Christa that was utterly charming. No wonder that her son was charmed. “I'm glad to meet you again in better circumstances.”

“Dr Hudson?” 

Both Neal and his father turned their head at the maître d's call. 

“Imagine, there are seven 'doctor Hudson' in the family,” Asra whispered to a grinning Christa. 

She widened her eyes and giggled in answer. Neal glanced at her, beaming again. 

Now, how was Asra supposed to not find delightful someone who made her son smile with delight? If she had to be honest, she had always found his girlfriends, those she had met at least, a bit too controlled and self-aware. Neal was so responsible, too responsible, he thought too much...yes, she and Peter had to plead guilty here. But precisely for this reason, he needed someone spontaneous. 

“I hope for the administrative personnel that they don't all work at the same hospital,” Christa whispered back, while the maître d' addressed Peter.

“Welcome, sir. If your party is complete, may I lead you to your table?”

“Please,” her husband answered, offering her his arm.

She took it and out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Neal with his arm around Christa's waist, murmuring a couple of words in her ear and kissing the top of her head. Spontaneity, check.

“You didn't have to wait for us in the lobby,” Peter remarked as they crossed without stopping the vast and uber contemporary dining room of the restaurant.

At least, he had thought of asking for a private salon.

“After we didn't pick you up at your hotel, it was the least we could do,” Christa protested.

“Nonsense, dear,” answered the very man who previously lectured her on not being too familiar with _Dr.Lorenson_. 

“The traffic in this city is insane, and you two have so few and precious days off,” Asra approved. “We wouldn't have you waste time driving us around...Oh!”

She caught Peter's grin as following the maître d', she stepped outside and on a stone terrace. There were a dozen tables, each space separated by rows of bougainvilleas or oleanders, a small wooden dancefloor and a scene where a jazz quartet was about to start playing.

It was exactly the kind of atmosphere she had wished for this dinner. And the throwback to their first date...

“You of little faith,” he murmured as she clutched his hand.

Of course, he had planned on her disappointment upon her arrival and of course, she couldn't resent him for tricking her after this wonderful surprise. He was _impossible_. 

The next half an hour was dedicated to the choice of menu while admiring the surroundings and commenting on the pleasant weather. Asra insisted they have a glass of champagne, invoking the celebration of a reunion with their son that didn't involve poisoning and quarantine, and made note that it was Christa's favorite drink. 

They exchanged a few banalities about their plane trip and had just finished toasting when the band opened their number with _In A Sentimental Mood_.

“Do you like jazz, Christa?” 

“I love music, including jazz.” Her pleasure was evident as she listened for a few measures. “This band is very good.”

“You would know,” Neal pointed. 

His voice, his eyes were brimming with tenderness. She had never seen him so overt in his affections since he was a child and once more, she couldn't deny that it was a result of the education she and Peter gave him.  
Neal was sensitive, had always been, so they agreed he'd need to school and control his emotions early, all the more since he was to follow Peter's footsteps. Unfortunately, he took it to the letter. He grew wary of feelings and mostly considered them a potential source of pain and mistakes. He didn't adopt a poker face or a brittle demeanor, that wasn't him, nevertheless he rationalized everything, all the time, way too much. He also closed off to a certain level, probably out of fear or annoyance that his emotions would be judged if he showed or shared them.  
They had never meant to hurt him, on the contrary they thought they taught him how to protect himself, but she guessed they did, and quite deeply. She was aware of his professional dissatisfaction and witness to the degradation of his relationship with Peter, but only after he exploded out of the blue and left for the USA, she realized that in spite of the deep affection that linked them, in spite of knowing her son, she had failed to understand him so far.  
Yet tonight, Neal embraced his feelings. He didn't rationalize or he wouldn't date a resident to start with, didn't care for anyone's approval or lack thereof. Clearing the air with Peter had certainly helped things, but it was the first time he even bantered with a girlfriend in front of them, sharing a bit of their intimacy instead of subtly discouraging any attempt at showcasing it.  
Until now, even at times when he and his father got along, she never felt that he wanted them to come together as a family; he merely respected proper relationship etiquette by checking the “meet the parents” box when suitable.  
Now he let himself be and seemed willing to include them fully in his life again, because he fell in love with Christa Lorenson. It was such a joy to Asra that she felt like hugging the woman and thanking her for it.

“I was a musician, before I entered med school,” Christa explained.

Oh, how interesting. 

“So you and Neal have music in common? Do you play the piano, too?”

She wasn't particularly subtle, no. But it got her another piece of information.

“Christa used to _teach_ music, Ma. I'm not in her league.”

“I wouldn't know,” Christa teased. “I never heard you play.”

“You were quite decent,” Peter judged. 

“And you, Dr Hudson, do you like jazz?” 

Asra grinned. “You'd think. He introduced me to it.” 

“I do like jazz very much,” he replied, as the band carried on with _Rhapsody in Blue_.

“I hope they're going to play _Summertime_ ,” she remarked idly, ignoring her husband's warning glance. Come on, it wasn't as if she had disclosed a state secret here.

“Neal mentioned it was your favorite song.”

“I used to sing it to him all the time, when he was a baby. His father used to joke that it'd be his first word.”

Christa welcomed her confidence with a warm smile...but was there a vulnerability to it, or did Asra imagine things ?

“How was Boston?” Neal asked in a conversational tone, placing his hand on top of his girlfriend's. 

The conversation soon rolled on the conference and medecine, as always when there were two Hudsons in one room and one was her husband. Christa had to be interested in the topic, but she focused on talking with her instead and never made her feel for a second that she'd rather follow the other discussion.  
Before that moment, Asra was favorably impressed because of what she did for Peter, and ready to welcome her because she was good for her son. But then she took a true liking to that gracious and thoughtful young woman. As they talked, about Neal's siblings mostly, Asra discovered at times a certain melancholy in her disarming baby blue eyes. It appealed to the _mother_ in her, in a way that she couldn't explain. Maybe Christa didn't have a happy chilhood. Maybe she wasn't a mother because she couldn't...Neal implied once that she'd been married. Was it possible that she lost her husband to a disease, before they could have children, which prompted her to enter med school? It would explain why she was a resident at her age. But naturally, she wouldn't dream to ask yet. 

“ _Nuages_...I love this one,” Christa observed after the band changed tune again. “It's the first jazz song I learned to play.”

“When was that?”

“Just after I made it to college. I was more into rock and folk, before.” 

“Were you in a band?” 

The waiter arrived to retrieve their empty glasses and present the wine bottles to Peter, interrupting the men's discussion.

“Several. Some quite...colorful. I had a rather classical education, and it was how I rebelled as a teenager,” Christa revealed with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Tell me you have pictures,” Neal teased. 

“Let me call my lawyer first.” 

“ _Nuages_ is the first jazz song Christa learned,” Asra repeated for Peter's benefit, and since it got her no warning glance, she considered she had carte blanche. “You see, it's the first one I danced to.” 

“Really?”

“Mh-mh. Peter took me to a jazz club on our first date. I fell in love with the music, too.”

“That's very romantic.” 

“I'm sure that your first date was romantic as well.” 

She sustained her son's knowing, amused stare. What, she wasn't being nosy. She only followed the normal flow of the conversation. And technically, she did not _ask_.

“I'm afraid it wasn't,” he shrugged. “It wasn't even planned. We met by chance in a little cantina near the hospital, after shift, and had breakfast.”

“It was perfect,” Christa asserted. 

“Was it so?” Neal was grinning from ear to ear now.

“The next shift was a whole other business. I liked you a lot less then.” 

She recounted the anecdote and the conversation settled back to its default mode, medicine, this time about Angels Memorial, briefly Neal and Christa's colleagues, mostly their work, their last cases, and the new organization at the hospital.

“You know, I understood your reasons for refusing to work under the authority of that...”

“Asshat,” Christa offered, since Peter was looking for the right word. “Or is it too American of an expression?”

“No, dear, I was searching for something along those lines.” 

His wry smile told Asra that he liked her sense of humor. 

“We'd say 'unpleasant fellow',” Neal quipped. 

Asra hoped to use the digression and change the subject, but Peter got a jump on her.

“From what you told me, the unpleasant fellow isn't a problem anymore, and you would benefit from routine training in more complex procedures. Practice makes perfect, and patients deserve perfect.”

Here it was, Neal closed like an oyster. She loved him oh so dearly, and owned up to their mistakes as parents, but she wished he wasn't so touchy and stubborn at times. Peter didn't mean that ER work wasn't important, not anymore, which was a huge step for him. But in his mind surgery would always prevail.

“I'm a trauma surgeon. My place is in the ER, because that's where I'm the most efficient.”

Probably recognizing the brewing storm in his clipped tone, Christa discreetly grazed Neal's upper arm and stepped in. 

“I'm to blame, I guess,” she joked, adding as an explanation: “I kind of came up with the concept.”

“A brilliant idea,” Neal stressed. 

“And a very selfish one, because I missed working with you.”

Her goofy, apologetic smile at Peter worked wonders. Like father, like son: The former dropped the subject with an indulgent huff, the latter was all but on cloud nine after her admission. 

Potential conflict defused in about thirty seconds.

Well yes, Asra did lecture Peter at length beforehand about not engaging with their son, but it was smart of Christa to place him in a position where he couldn't engage further without being rude to her, which his good education forbade him.

Perfect. 

“How I understand you, Christa. I am never happier than when my husband and I work as a team, too,” she stated in the very innocent intention to move definitely away from the dangerous waters of Neal's career choices. 

She was certain that Peter would get her _other_ message. 

***

Peter glanced at Asra. _I see what you did there_. 

Comparing Neal and her girlfriend to them was loud and clear a statement she made about this relationship; and a warning that she expected her opinion to be shared. He was in for his wife driving him crazy with some “why didn't he ask her yet” and others “it took you two weeks, why does your son have to be so difficult?” until those two were lawfully wedded, preferably in an extravagant ceremony.

The girlfriend in question took no heed of the insinuation, since she carried on:

“Neal told me a bit about your work with Dr Hudson...” 

“Peter,” he specified, avoiding Asra's -he knew it- jubilant stare.

He never denied that Christa Lorenson made a good first impression on him. He immediately liked the way she addressed him during the quarantine. Respectful, yet not obsequious. He was used to receiving compliments about his work, and years of being a world-reputed surgeon had given him a good grip on separating the wheat from the chaff.  
But Peter didn't rely on first impressions. In his private sphere he liked to take his time to think before he acted...probably because it was a rare luxury in the OR. He preferred to keep a certain distance with people at first, even “for the bloody sake of it” as Asra sometimes complained. 

True, Asra was right about Christa being “the one”, a glance at his besotted son told him so. True, considering his own history, it didn't matter that Christa was Neal's girlfriend only of a few months; after all they were living together already. True, she wasn't a complete stranger. True, she earned his gratitude for being kind, and some respect for being smart.  
But his wife seemed to take for granted that Neal would only fall in love with a kind of perfect creature who would magically fit their family. She couldn't be certain of it, and love didn't guarantee either that their relationship would last. Their own marriage was an exception, not the norm. And if it lasted, Christa would play a role in their family's dynamics and weigh on their relationship with their son and possible grandchildren. Therefore, he deemed it better to not rush, not share too much, too soon, and learn to know each other little by little so as to build solid and healthy bases to their acquaintance. 

Yet somehow, he found himself much more open to the younger woman than what he expected or even intended to be. She was direct, funny, and refreshingly unassuming; it nevertheless came as a surprise that he felt so at ease with her. It wasn't like him at all to lose control, to show his emotions and less to sob helplessly in public. But she didn't act as if she was entitled to any familiarity because she was witness to his moment of weakness, sparing him any embarrassment or annoyance. 

He liked, for example, that she didn't make all a fuss about the permission he granted. She simply acknowledged it with a thankful smile while rewording her question to Asra.

“Neal told me that you started your charity caring for Peter's patients and their families?”

“And it's nation-wide now, with fifteen hospitals enrolled,” Peter stressed.

“Yes. We started with children in his service, and we quickly expanded. We help with daily and concrete issues ranging from homeschooling to grocery shopping, as well as administrative procedures. We also offer entertainment when we can...Everything that doctors can't do.”

“It's so frustrating, not being able to help further...We repair people, if we're lucky, but there's so much more to a life.” 

Christa's words prompted Peter to press lightly Asra's hand. 

“The medical personnel has enough on their plate. That's why we also expanded our activities, and we've been trying for a few years now to search and inform the patients about all existing treatments or protocols. We hope to build a database and hire a full-time MD to manage it.”

“What a fantastic idea,” Christa whistled. “Everything around the disease is so hard to deal with... people never imagine how hard. Administration is a puzzling maze, but you quickly realize that the most precious yet the most difficult to come by is medical information. Especially when it's about alternative treatments, which can be a world of smoke and mirrors. It's as much a life-saving work as ours you're doing.”

Her heartfelt reaction didn't surprise Peter, since he knew first-hand how she cared about the well-being of her patients. Nevertheless, it pleased him quite a lot that she caught at once all the importance of Asra's work and brainchild. He was infinitely proud of his wife who did save lives in her way, indeed. It was always good to hear it recognized and said aloud.

He looked at Neal, who was smiling, but he caught a fugitive emotion in his gaze as it rested on Christa. Peter was trying to pinpoint what it was when...

“Thank you. We're doing our best. Alternative treatments are indeed a complicated matter...and not everybody welcomes them.”

Asra and her touch of wickedness, he sighed inwardly. 

“You disapprove of them?” Christa asked him, a hint of surprise in her voice. “Didn't you mention at least one in the last essay on stade II meningiomas you published in _Brain_?”

Peter finally understood the source of his easiness. Only a handful of people behaved naturally in his presence...and none of the girlfriends Neal introduced to him as an adult ever did. He guessed it was normal that his complicated relationship with his son influenced their view of him, but they were either too demure, either overly confrontational.  
Here, instead of trying to ingratiate herself or asserting her views aggressively, Christa made no mystery of her opinion but simply asked. In her direct and guileless ways he perceived a genuine interest in him and in Asra, beyond the fact that they were “Neal's father” and “Neal's mother”. She liked people, but again he had seen that already.

“I do believe there's a lot of smoke and mirrors, but in exceptional cases, a couple of those treatments can have a positive effect when the best option, mostly surgery, isn't possible. Or until it is.”

“This is my father being uncharacteristically broad-minded,” Neal commented, deadpan.

A couple of years back, it would have been a jab, Peter would have been rightfully vexed and the conversation would have ended on a bitter quarrel. Today, it was only good-natured humor and he rolled his eyes in the same spirit. 

“Neal!” Asra feigned to scold, relief thick in her voice. 

Christa rolled her eyes at Neal, too, while trying to hold back a laugh. She squeezed his hand, and asked another question.

They discussed his work and Asra's for most of the meal, and when the waiter left with their empty plates before dessert, Peter was convinced that not only his son wasn't blind, but also that the years had made him wiser in his choice of partner. Not that his previous choices were appalling, far from it. But he liked the kind of doctor Christa was, and it told him she was the kind of woman whom Neal needed. She was the acting type, with a good head on her shoulders, which would balance his son's thinking type and constant second-guessing; but she wasn't overly confident, and sensitive enough so that he'd feel supported and not smothered, since according to Asra it was the problem his son had with him.  
She had a refreshing take on medicine, probably because she studied it later in life and her way of thinking wasn't only shaped by med school, unlike most of their peers. She had a quick mind, her questions were always on spot, her ideas original, and her intellectual curiosity was boundless. She'd make a good pratician, Peter could say it from experience, but when he knew her better, he'd suggest she try research. 

“You told me you read all my articles, still I didn't think you'd be so knowledgeable about them. I'm almost surprised you didn't choose neurosurgery instead of emergency medicine.”

It was mostly a blessing, but sometimes a slight hassle that his wife knew him better than anyone, he mused as her gaze all but mocked: _A couple of hours and you want to make a neurosurgeon out of the girl?_  
But well, at least she was satisfied now. 

“How come you're so passionate about this field?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Can of worms officially opened. The changes at Angels Memorial and Neal playing the piano are references to chapters not yet published of _Better than Revenge_ and _Not Given Lightly_ (I will eventually update them, for those who might care). Next chapter: Things get sappy, too.


	3. Make Someone Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christa's past is on the table, and people bond over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hudsons POV.  
> Non beta-ed, please forgive any mistakes you might find.

Christa missed only a beat. Alone, it might not have been enough of a giveaway, but Neal's pained look as he protectively entwined his fingers with hers finally opened Asra's eyes.

Neal's hesitant _no_ , the longing in Christa's eyes, the practical knowledge of patient support she demonstrated during their earlier conversation...

Peter's short silence confirmed that he just inferred that Christa lost someone close to her and, like her, was wondering what course of action they should take. It would be proper to apologize, but Christa might not want her personal situation acknowledged, as was her right. 

The first notes of _Summertime_ saved them.

“Why don't you invite your mother to dance, Neal?” Christa proposed with a soft smile. “It's your song.”

She looked at Asra and somehow, an understanding passed between them. _Mother to mother._

“Oh, I would love it.”

Christa's imperceptible nod of encouragement was all it took for Neal to recover and, after a brushing his lips against her fingertips, he stood up and bowed in front of Asra. 

“If you allow me, Ma...Dad?” 

“Yes, yes, go. You heard your mother,” Peter granted with his usual impatient manners, but as they were walking away they heard him adress Christa kindly. “Would you have another glass of champagne or would you prefer to dance, too, my dear?” 

Asra clasped her son's hand. He squeezed hers. In silence, they joined the two other couples already on the dancefloor, and for a moment they just swayed to the music. 

_But until that morning_  
_There's a'nothing can harm you_  
_With your daddy and mammy standing by_

“I'm sorry about the way the conversation went,” she eventually said. “We should have known that such an interest could only be very personal.” 

She couldn't believe that it took her so long to interpret the signs. Maybe she didn't want to. 

“Don't be sorry. There's no need.”

His gentle tone reassured her. His relationship with Peter was so volatile that a couple of years back, Neal might have blamed him for being insensitive. He wasn't, but when he was in medicine mode he focused only on science. He had only thought of an interest on the intellectual level, his question was never meant as personal. She was glad that Neal understood it. He was tense, though, his concerned gaze veering off to their table every now and then.

“I never suspected anything either, before she told me.”

She followed his stare. Christa and Peter were engrossed in a discussion, his body language told her he was talking treatments and the blonde didn't seem troubled. Neal probably drew the same conclusion and relaxed.

“Can I ask you who she lost? I know it must be a child...” 

“Her son,” he provided after a second or two. “Brain cancer. He was five.”

Asra closed her eyes, rested her head on Neal's shoulder. Her own son was here, tall and strong and alive, she could hear his steady heartbeat, feel the warmth of his body made of her flesh and blood, and her heart went out to Christa.  
When she began her work, she cried under the shower everyday and she wasn't sure she'd manage to follow through. She might not have unless for Peter. Neal was still a baby and for a long time she was haunted by the fear that it could happen to them, that one day she'd hold his small lifeless body in her arms. In hindsight, she wondered if their waiting several years before trying for another child had more to do with this fear and less with their official reasons, timing and availability.  
The suffering of the patients and grief of the families she took care of still overwhelmed her every now and then, even after decades, whereas her collaborators would describe her as “a rock” thanks to the armour of efficiency and relative detachment she'd built overtime.  
It wasn't rare that people chose medicine because of a close encounter with sickness, but a child...She honestly didn't know if she'd have been able to expose herself to reliving such a devastating heartbreak over and over. 

“She's a strong one.”

“Her courage...if only you could see her, Ma. It amazes me how she fights. She just never gives up on a patient. She fights, and she fights and she fights and she never protects herself, she doesn't even think of it, she doesn't care if she gets hurt in the process...not even after all she went through.”

 _And you hurt for her, don't you. And you're desperate to help her._ She recognized the feeling for having experienced it herself, and perceived a plea under the praise. Something in his tone reminded her of when he was a little boy and believed she could make every pain and worry go away. Except this time, it was Christa's pain he wished she could soothe, and they both knew she was powerless against it. So, she did the only thing she could as a mother, and hugged him a little tighter as the song drew to a close.

_So hush little baby_  
_Don't you cry_

The bittersweet moment went by with the last note. Only closeness remained, and, happy to be together, they smiled at each other.

“You chose well,” she complimented while they applauded the band and the other dancers. 

“You mean I've been bloody lucky.”

“Minus the swearing, yes,” she chided with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, Mother,” he guffawed, ushering her back to their table. “I never had a choice. And I'm so glad f...”

He cut short as he noticed that Christa wasn't there anymore, got tense all over again until he spotted her asking a waiter for directions. She probably felt his gaze on her, for she looked back and smiled brightly at him. Asra could all but hear her son's sigh of relief. 

“I'm going to follow Christa. Be nice with your father, he means well,” she murmured just before they arrived within earshot of her husband.

***

Once Peter found himself alone with his son, there was a moment of hesitation. _Couldn't Asra have stayed ?_ he wondered, annoyed.

In spite of being on the mend since their last stay in Los Angeles, years of tension and misunderstandings couldn't be erased with a magical wand and their relationship was still a minefield. Asra pretended that out of all their children, Neal took the most after him, but on this he couldn't agree with her. Things were so much simpler with the others. They knew he loved them, whereas Neal always seem to doubt it somehow.

For years, during their rare meetings, they had behaved like polite strangers...at best. For the first time the atmosphere between them was less tense, almost relaxed, and he didn't want to ruin the evening, if only for Asra's sake. She never tried to force a reconciliation and supported him unwaveringly while, on her side, reconnecting little by little with their son. She never complained but he knew that she suffered from the situation and longed for them to be a close-knit family again. 

Christa was the obvious subject of conversation to opt for here, and one he'd like to broach. Yet, Neal had proven very protective of his girlfriend tonight and one word taken the wrong way would cause a major commotion...maybe his untimely question had already made some damage. Beyond blatant concern, Peter didn't quite know how to interpret the couple of hawkish stares he caught Neal casting at them from the dancefloor. _I'm not the Grim Reaper, for God's sake,_ he thought bitterly.

He felt compelled to apologize for his blunder, and admittedly it wasn't something he liked to do. If Neal resented him and received his excuses coldly, he would have a hard time keeping his own temper under control. So he was still pondering about what to say when Neal broke the silence in the most unexpected manner.

“Don't worry about Christa.”

At first, Peter doubted his hearing. But no. For once, his son actually made things easier for him.

“I never mean to ask anything so personal. I didn't suspect for one second that...”

“I know. Really.”

“She _apologized_...including for not telling us beforehand.” 

He knew he sounded a tad shocked, but it truly baffled him that she would.

“She's very American sometimes... and thoughtful, always,” Neal added with a wistful smile. “We discussed it. I told her you would never require to be apprised of such a private matter...”

“I _certainly_ hope you did.”

“So we both agreed on not mentioning it, but not hiding it if the subject came up. Yet to be honest, we expected it could happen mostly while discussing Ma's work. I guess we were taken by surprise.”

“You gave it away more than she did,” he remarked, and cursed inwardly as Neal thinned his lips. He didn't mean it as a rebuke, just as an observation.

“I guess...” his son conceded vaguely. “Anyway, your question didn't upset her, and neither did your conversation afterwards. About her son's disease and treatments, right?”

“Right.” Was Neal going to reproach him with it?

“It's a good thing. Medicine's how she copes, it helps her to distance herself when she thinks 'case'. But I never talked about it in details with her. I...” Neal paused, ran his eyes over his face as if he was looking for something, as if was making a decision, and finally he went on. “I know she still questions the choices she made back then...” 

Peter nodded. Every parent of a child with an incurable disease stood between a rock and a hard place, between the fear of pushing too hard and the fear of giving up too soon. It was an issue he confronted throughout his career, and had trouble learning to deal with given his deeply ingrained belief that a doctor always had to try. Based on some of her remarks during their conversation, Christa was no exception.

“But I'm not confident that I can offer her the right kind of support on this level. I'm too involved. I was never a parent, and I can't have medical answers for her. It isn't even my field. It's yours, though. ”

In other words, Neal trusted that he didn't distress his girlfriend, and even deemed he might be of help. Peter tried to remember the last time his son relied on him for anything, and suddenly needed to clear his throat.

“She's aware now that with a glio stage IV, only a miracle could have saved her boy. But I can tell you, she did everything to make that miracle happen.” He shook his head in appreciative disbelief. “Imagine, she managed to get her son in Parker's trial at John Hopkins.”

“She did?” 

Parker's initial trial was one of the most successful chemo protocols in the last decade, since it had allowed several remissions. One of the patient was still alive as far as Peter knew. It was a medical miracle.  
Neal looked suitably impressed, as expected, yet his expression gradually darkened. Peter guessed why. Christa was able to give her son the best chance of survival, but luck failed them.

“She's a force to be reckoned with,” he praised. 

Considering their communication problems, comforting Neal had always been Asra's job. It explained the poorness of his attempt at distracting his son from his broody thoughts and yet, his eyes lit. 

“That she is.” 

Aware that he was going to thread on shaky ground, Peter still decided he'd take advantage of this moment of truce to speak his mind. They'd probably never understand each other, but he wanted a good life for Neal. As a father, his role was to point the right way.

“About Christa...You know what I think about your mother's ideas,” he began.

“You agree with them, one hundred percent. Oh, sorry, you meant the official version?” his brat of a son teased. 

It quite pleased him, though. When Neal started med school, they were rather close for a while. Maybe he was mellowing with age, but he found himself longing for a pacified relationship with his first-born.

“What I want to say is: Don't let this woman get away.”

“That's the plan.”

“Good. She has a mind for research, you know,” he couldn't help but add.

He wondered whether Neal might take his comment wrongly and accuse him of being controlling, like whenever he merely expressed an opinion in the last twenty years or so. But his son only stared back at him, the corners of his lips lifting in a slow smirk.

“Ma likes her a lot, too.”

***

When Asra entered the ladies' room she found Christa drying her hands, and didn't even try to pretend she was here for another reason than checking on her.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently.

Peter's overbearing manners were only a façade so she wasn't worried in the least that he might have upset her. Nevertheless, she wanted to ensure that having to be reminded of her loss, and recount it, didn't ruin the evening for Christa. 

“Yes, thank you. And I'm sorry. I already apologized to Dr.Hudson...Peter, but I'd like to apologize to you, too.”

It took Asra two full seconds to understand what she meant.

“ _You_?” she exclaimed. “Oh, my dear, why would you? This is nonsense...I dare hope that Peter answered the same thing.”

A fond smile lit the blonde's concerned face.

“About word for word, yes. But I should have known that it was probably going to come up and I should have asked Neal to tell you in advance.”

“This is a very personal, very painful part of your life. Peter and I wouldn't have dreamed you shared it without knowing us at all. We would have made the same choice in your stead. And if I may, we might have been shocked if you made another one.”

“Yet I placed him, and you, in an akward situation. I know you'd probably prefer someone with no baggage for Neal, but it wasn't my intention to hide mine. I just didn't...”

She shook her head. 

“You didn't want to appear as if you were looking for sympathy.”

Christa's relief was so blatant that Asra couldn't help herself. Spurred by a motherly wave of affection, she took her hand in hers. 

“Don't worry, my dear Christa. We already know it isn't you. Be certain of it.” 

“Thank you...It means a lot to me.” The simplicity of her answer clearly amounted to its sincerity. “It's part of me, and whether I want it or not, it shaped my life as it is now. But it doesn't make it easy to share. There's no good moment to announce something like this. I always feel like I'm walking around with a cloud over my head, ready to rain on everybody's parade.”

“And I guess that people tend to label you as the poor grieving mother, which is a hard one to peel off and comes with many preconceptions.”

“Yes,” Christa concurred wholeheartedly. “Many imagine that I expect some special privilege, others seem to feel offended when I'm not a meek, broken mess. Although after Neal told me about your work, it wasn't something I worried about...”

“Oh, I was guilty of such preconceptions in the beginning,” Asra regretted, her mouth twisting in a wry grin. “You should have seen my face the first time a patient went off on me, deservedly so, because I was patronizing her. Time and experience only taught me to know better.”

“But I know that mostly, it comes from a good place. Especially now that as a doctor, I'm on the other side, so to speak...but I still feel that it sets me apart, and creates an invisible barrier sometimes. So maybe it was childish of me, but I didn't want to wear that label tonight. I didn't want that weight on me, or anyone...and leave my past behind just during that first dinner with my boyfriend's parents. I just wanted to be 'Christa'.”

Asra let go of her hand to pat her shoulder. “I understand this very well.”

“I'm glad you do. I love Neal, and we hope for a future together...It's important for me to establish a honest relationship with his parents.”

“I think we're up to a rather good start,” Asra smiled. “And on my side, I'm glad...” 

She hesitated, reaching inside her purse for her lipstick to give herself a composure while gathering and wording her thoughts. 

“For reasons similar to yours, I wish you could have been unaware of my husband's past issues with Neal. You didn't seem to let it affect your opinion of him, and I'm glad for it.”

“Your husband has always been very kind to me. And people often butt heads when they're too similar,” Christa offered.

“You think that Peter and Neal are similar?” Asra repeated...quite dumbly, she was afraid.

She had excuses here. There was knowing that “the one” would be different, and realizing how different “the one” actually was.

“Don't you?” 

“I do. Peter's parents did. The rest of the world happens to disagree.” 

“Really? Well, on some aspects they're polar opposites. But I feel that deep down, they do have a lot in common...” Christa mused aloud. 

With a questioning look, Asra silently encouraged her to develop. 

“You see, during my son's disease I was in contact with many, many doctors. You quickly learn to identify, beyond appearances, if they feel for their patients or not, if they see another human being or another case to solve, not that there's a right and wrong here when it comes to the result...or even, although it happened to me only once, another mild annoyance to deal with before their monthly paycheck. I work with Neal, I know what kind of doctor he is. He loves to solve cases, yes, but first and foremost he wants the best for each of his patients, as he would if they were a loved one. It's paramount for him. And when Peter and I talked about my son, he gave me the exact same impression. Maybe they're dealing with the same kind of devotion in opposite ways. And...”

She made the smallest pause.

“And Neal is wonderful, but as his mother you're aware that he can be quite demanding and stubborn when he wants, right?”

Christa's goofy humor was infectious and Asra laughed out loud. Moreover, long-lasting love was never blind, so it was good that she saw Neal for who he was. Yet, something tickled her curiosity.

“Right. But tell me, what were you thinking before you mentioned my son's temper? I know you were about to say something else,” Asra insisted, since Christa tried to shrug it off.

“Just an idea that crossed my mind. It's very personal and I'm probably way off the mark...” she finally admitted with clear reluctance. “I wouldn't want to sound nosy or presomptuous, or offend you.”

“We just agreed that we'd be honest with each other, didn't we?”

Christa took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you did it for him. For Peter. The charity. I don't mean that you don't care about the people you help, of course, but you talked about what doctors can't do, about you two being a team and...I had this feeling.”

“I see now what my son meant earlier about your intuitions, my dear,” Asra commented with a serene smile. 

She replaced her lipstick in her bag, and passed her arm under Christa's. 

“Shall we go?”

They walked back to the stone terrace in companionable silence. Once outside, they stopped in unison. Jazz notes were floating in the warm air and at their table, Neal and Peter were talking rather amicably.

“It was eating him,” she confessed quietly, somehow certain that Christa would never repeat, not even to Neal, a word told in confidence. “I had to do something.”

A few weeks after Peter was close to a burn-out, she hired a baby-sitter for Neal and turned up at the hospital with a couple of friends and a plan to help.

She let her children believe that she had made the choice of working with her husband out of a need to spend more time together and share his interests. Since she was already involved in charity work as a teenager, and as a couple they were inseparable, no one ever imagined she could have had another motivation.  
They all saw their father as an unshakeable surgeon, as a realist aware of the limitations of his profession, as a scientist whose entire focus was on medicine, as a man who never doubted. It was an image he deliberately projected out of pride and self-protection, of course. But it was also, in part, because he believed that such an example would help their children through their own lives and careers; reason why even Neal, usually so perceptive, never suspected anything.  
Nevertheless, unknown to everyone but her, in his first years of practice Peter was deeply frustrated by those limitations, which he saw as an impediment to his mission as a doctor. Some would say it steamed from his need to be in control of everything and his nature as an overachiever. Asra only saw his deeply-rooted need to do justice to his patients, since he had accepted to be responsible for their lives; and Peter never took a commitment lightly. He needed to concentrate on medicine to thrive, but his sense of responsibilities wouldn't let him and he was reaching an impasse.  
She wanted to do good, too, but the need to help her husband trumped everything else. With the solution Asra found, she and Peter completed each other in every way. They shared joys, sorrows, success and failures, always together. Her marriage was the most fulfilling experience of her life, a source of strength and courage like no other. 

Christa nodded. “When you love someone, you want them at peace. Happy.”

_Because I missed working with you._

They traded a glance, and Asra felt a bond forming between them. 

“Earlier, you assumed that we wanted someone with no baggage for Neal. You were mistaken.” 

Neal spotted them, noticed they were arm in arm. No, he didn't need anyone's approval. But his eyes lit, and joy filled her.

“You make my son happy.” 

Christa beamed like the sun. 

“He makes me happy, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Yes, it's only missing talking animals and characters breaking into songs...  
> About Neal's conflict with Peter, the Hudsons are unreliable narrators here. Their thoughts are of course reflecting their views/side only and not the whole reality.  
> Next chapter: Neal and Christa are going home and the rating for this story is going up.


	4. Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Christa and Neal spent the rest of the evening ;) Neal's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual content. This chapter is strong M.  
> Non beta-ed, please forgive any mistake you might find.

“Did I ruin everything?” Christa asked as soon as they were inside his car, watching the taxi his parents just boarded drive away.

“Christa...” 

“I know. I know. I know we discussed it beforehand and yes, they told me exactly what you said they would. They were so kind and understanding and still, I can't help but wonder...”

He stretched out his arm to cup the side of her face, stroked lightly. 

“There's one thing my parents never do, it's mincing their words, and one thing they're absolutely terrible at, it's hiding their disapproval. Had they been peeved, you wouldn't _wonder_. Believe me.”

She sighed as he gave her cheek a last caress, and relaxed against the headrest while he started the engine.

“Thank you. You're so supportive.” She placed her hand upon his on the wheel, entwined her fingers with his, “And I don't mean only tonight. All the time.” 

He wished she'd always look at him like right now, her blue eyes shining with love and trust in the dark. He brought her knuckles to his lips, then released her to turn left in direction of the speedway. They had lingered at the restaurant, danced some more, and it was past midnight. No traffic, the trip back would be faster and easier.

“And you should believe me,” he carried on, eager do dissipate the last doubts she might have, “since everything went exactly as I predicted. First, my parents loved you, and not out of compassion. They just loved who you are.”

“Maybe not yet,” she tempered, “but I think we got along. I liked them a lot. How could I not, they were nice and welcoming. They put me at ease immediately.” 

“It goes both ways. Even my father forgot the stick he usually has up his backside. Which brings me to my second prediction. 75% of the conversation was about medicine.”

She rolled her eyes, waited for a second after he entered the speedway to elbow him playfully. 

“In case you didn't notice, I kind of have an interest in medicine, so I had one in his conversation. And as you know, I admire his work.”

She seemed about to add something, but eventually stayed silent. He suspected it concerned the discussion she and his father had about her son. She didn't want to broach the subject tonight, in order to spare him her sad thoughts, he suspected. He respected her wish all the more easily, since he didn't want her to linger on them either.

“You impressed him.”

“You exaggerate.”

“Not in the least. He asked why you aren't a neurosurgeon. It means he thinks you _could_ be a neurosurgeon, and there is no higher compliment in his book. Except, maybe, having a mind for research...which, oh, he happens to believe you do.”

“What? Me?”

“Yes, you. I don't know how long he's going to resist nagging you to write a paper.”

He had meant to joke again, but this time, there was a bitter edge to his own voice that took him by surprise. He was confident that Christa wouldn't let herself be nagged; and he was thankful that his father thought highly of her. No full reconciliation would be possible otherwise.  
But thirty-year long habits died hard.

“Did you truly enjoy the evening?” she worried. “It seemed so...there was no trace of that initial hostility between you and your father, which was tangible during the quarantine ...”

“It was the most pleasant dinner I had with my parents in forever. And things were definitely different between us, except for a bit of tension here and there...I guess it's unavoidable.”

She reached for him, stroked soothingly his hair and nape. 

“I noticed. You dealt well with it.”

“With some help,” he smiled. “You managed one or two nice saves.”

“It was nothing. And like I said, I liked your father very much...still, I can't help but feel that everybody has it easier with him than his eldest son. It's so hard for children to understand the reasoning behind the demands of the adults around them, and I guess that your dad wasn't one to explain?”

“No indeed. My mother did clarify, in the beginning, that he pushed me because he valued me and my abilities. But I only thought she loved him so she saw him with rose-colored glasses. I've only begun to believe her since last fall. ”

“It's a huge weight to carry, and it must get heavier on the long run.”

He rarely talked in deep about his father with people. He might have with Leanne, but after she got a picture of the situation she refused to “discuss his other daddy”, considering that it was up to him to work out his issues. And although they were both pressured with high expectations, Mike was, for Desmond Leighton, the apple of his eyes. His siblings were much younger than him and had a different relationship to their parents. As for his mother, he avoided the topic with her. They didn't see eye to eye on it, and he would have been unfair to ask she take sides between her husband and her son.

But as always, he was better for sharing with Christa. The weight felt lighter for her insight and unfussy sympathy. 

“It might sound childish and petty, or overly sensitive. But I guess that all those years of never-ending criticism, of nothing I did ever being good enough for him, have worn me off. It's a knee-jerk reaction I can't help.”

“It's like an allergy,” she concluded. “A psychological allergy.”

He grinned. She wasn't mocking, but trying to alleviate him. And it worked.

“You tell me, Dr.Lorenson. He makes a pointed remark, I remember twenty others times at least when it led to a rebuke, and I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. After a while, I'm at the end of my rope, I lose my temper, and voila, dispute. ”

“But tonight, it didn't happen. ”

“No.” He heaved a sigh. “Things did change during his last visit. Since he told me he respected my work and choices.”

“And your father isn't one for paying lip service.”

“Precisely. So tonight, I reminded myself that it was the most important, and I shouldn't take heed of details. I also sensed that on his side, he was making an effort. It helped.” 

She ran her eyes over his face. 

“So all in all, you had a good time?” 

The hopeful note in her voice warmed him. 

“Yes. I had a great evening. My father and I had more nice moments than tense ones.”

“You seemed to have quite an amicable discussion with him when Asra and I came back, just before dessert,” she offered.

“That's because we were talking about you. Yes we were,” he stressed as she sniggered. “And you and my mother seemed to hit it off.”

She smiled, but unexpectedly turned her head away and gazed at the city lights quickly passing by the windows. 

“Your mother is incredible, you know,” she carried on after a minute or two of silence. “What she does is so selfless, so brave...She could have ignored the pain people go through. She didn't have to confront it daily. I'm not sure I would have in her stead...I'd probably have stayed in my little bubble.”

He opened his mouth to protest but she placed a hand on his thigh, and he gathered that she didn't want to follow this train of thoughts.

“I really loved your mom, and your dad. Not as much as I do love you, though.” 

No matter how many times she said it, his heart skipped a beat and butterflies fluttered in his stomach.

“I love you, too.”

She shifted on her headrest to face him, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. The next time he peeked a glance at her, she was dozing off. He drove in silence, basking in the aftermath of her declaration, fulfilled by her presence at his side.

***

She woke up at the first red light.

“Where are we?” she blinked. 

“A few minutes from home.You alright?”

“Yes. Sorry, maybe I had one glass of champagne too many.”

“Or after a full year, residency is finally taking its toll on you.”

“I guess that age does, too,” she half-sighed, half-pouted. “I can't drink two nights in a row anymore.”

Her mouth was just too tempting. The light was still red. He leaned over her.

“You don't look a day over eighteen,” he assured. 

“You're a liar, and wouldn't it make you a perv, too?” she grinned against his lips. 

He chuckled, but as soon as his tongue touched hers he realized didn't kiss her for the whole evening and God, how he had missed the taste of her. He was losing himself in their embrace when a loud honk startled them both. 

The light was green.

He drove away after an apologetic sign of the hand at the car behind them. She let out a throaty laugh, stretched out lazily. 

“We didn't exactly rest so far, during our supposed days off. The barbecue was quite crazy,” he reminded her, resuming their conversation.

“Last time I was that drunk, it involved mezcal Bloody Marys...It was a good idea you had to order a cab for us two in advance.”

“Mh-mh.”

On the other hand, answering with such a vague approval was a terrible idea. She immediately concluded he was embarrassed, and burst into laughter. 

“What do you regret most? That Mike convinced you to demonstrate your 'end of residency year one' celebration dance, and yes all of us will remember it forever and ask for the two others when time comes, or that we made out on the way home?” 

He was about to share with her his inkling that Mike had spiked some of his beers with vodka or tequila, and he'd only be half-joking. But he peeked at her beautiful face, at her carefree grin, and found himself lovestruck. His heart swelled, and he was plainly unable to banter.

“Of course it's the dance. I'd never regret anything that happened between us,” he shrugged, eyes on the road. 

Not even a very public display of affection, if the term applied to necking like teenagers on the backseat of a cab.

A couple of seconds later, her lips pressed against his cheek and her _I love you_ feathered against his ear. She scooted closer on her seat, then laid her head on his upper arm. 

“Too bad we didn't take a taxi today, too. We should have done like your parents...Oh.”

He caught sight of her mouth, now impishly curved up, and he knew it would be to no avail...but he tried.

“Don't say it,” he warned.

“Not say what? That your parents are totally making out on the way home?”

She could never help teasing him. He had to be a glutton for punishment, because he loved it when she did.

“I hate you.”

“No you don't,” she grinned, with her best puppy-dog eyes. 

“No, I don't,” he admitted, with a long-suffering sigh.

He turned in their street and as was their habit, she looked around and signaled him an empty parking space. 

“They're so into each other, after fourty years,” she went on. “It's lovely.”

“For the longest time, I believed that his love for my mother was my father's only redeeming quality...and the only proof of his humanity,” he concurred. 

She stared at him for a second before she got out of the vehicule, and he wondered what to make out of it. But she huddled up to him as they walked to the condo, so he let go of his interrogations to enjoy the closeness.

“Their first date story was so romantic,” she mused.

She retrieved the keys in his pocket and handed them to him.

“I'm glad that ours didn't disappoint you too much. It stings enough already that my father beat me in the romantic department as far as first dates go.”

“You know, I wasn't completely honest when I said it was perfect,” she remarked while he pushed the entrance door. 

Oh, he recognized that off-handed tone of voice and loopsided smile. She was up to something. 

“Why, you didn't like those huevos rancheros?” he wondered, motioning for her to enter with a mock bow. “My lady.”

“No,” she chuckled.

She took him by the hand and led him to the elevator.

“Or maybe it was the lack of anything remotely glamorous in the surroundings, no music, no flowers, no champagne?”

“No,” she shrugged, flippant, way too flippant, letting go of him to precede him inside the car.

He hit the button to their floor. She still didn't say anything while the doors closed on them so he stood right in front of her, raising an interrogative brow, expecting a mischievous glance or a witty comeback. She stepped closer until there was only a couple of inches between them. The heady scent of her skin and floral perfume enticed him already, silent seconds grew heavy and sultry. Then only, she raised her head, gazed at him with ardent blue eyes, a loving smile arching her inviting lips, and the combination sucker-punched him. 

It was as if everything he felt for her at one point tonight, admiration, desire, tenderness, protectiveness, gratitude, love, struck him all at once and in a flash, changed into an urge to be one with her. A shiver coursed through his body and his blood ignited before she even spoke. It was unfair, really, how she could turn him on basically with a snap of her fingers. 

“You didn't kiss me,” she pointed out softly, ever so longingly. “That's why it wasn't perfect.”

He gulped, fisted his hands, fighting the overwhelming need to grab her and kiss her witless. If he touched her now, this time they wouldn't make it out of the elevator. 

“I wanted to,” he managed to rasp. 

“I know.”

“It was...”

“Too crazy, too soon...” she agreed, her tone utterly reasonable.

She wasn't intent on him anymore, but on her fingers undoing his tie, grazing the heated skin of his Adam's apple, brushing against his pulse point. She teased him, again, and how effectively.

“But then you stopped talking to stare at my lips, and before long I was praying kiss me, please kiss me, _please Neal_.”

Teasing? She was plainly _killing_ him. Her little husky laugh caused him to grit his teeth. 

“Until that moment, I foolishly thought I only suffered from a harmless case of hero worship for my attending.”

He barely registered the muted ring of the elevator. She stepped outside and walked backwards, casually unbuttoning the top of his shirt. He followed, mesmerized.

“I hoped you'd touch me until the last second.”

“If I had, I wouldn't have stopped.” 

She leaned her back against their apartment door, her fingers purposefully tiptoeing down his abdomen now that they were done with his shirt, and if she really wanted him to take her right here, neighors be damned, by all means she could go on. She had to know, but took no heed since she pressed her lips just above his collarbone, burning his skin. He finally unlocked the door and again, followed her inside, in the dark loft only lit by the moonlight trickling through the windows, vaguely aware that he kicked the panel close behind him. 

There was no space between them, but he had yet to take her into her arms when she stepped on her tiptoes, and murmured into his ear:

“In my dream afterwards, you didn't stop.”

Her confession took his breath away. He was unable to move, hypnotized by the unadulterated desire he read in her gaze, by every of her gestures since she took advantage of his being dumbstruck to have her way with him.  
She pulled on his tie, the satin slid against his nape, and he shuddered at the contact. Her hands cruised from his chest to his shoulders, deftly getting him rid of his shirt and jacket at once and dropping them on the floor, then traced the definition of the muscles of his arms, of his torso, of his stomach. He bit back a moan when her lips replaced her fingers, which were now playing with his belt buckle. She stopped her ministrations and looked up. 

“Did you dream of me, too?” 

Still not touching her otherwise, he freed her hair, let it fall around her face, watching in fascination as he threaded his fingers through the silky strands. Did he dream of her? How many times had he fantasized to undo her ponytail like that, before they were together?

“All the time. All the time, Christa.”

His hands hovered just above her shoulders, his lips grazed the sensitive skin behind her ear, and she trembled. 

“I wanted you so much that day...” he whispered, boring his gaze into hers.

He reached behind her and in a smooth move, undid the zipper of her dress. Her eyelids fell as the fabric sensually glided down her body to pool at her feet. 

“I already loved you.”

In answer, she locked her arms around his neck, pressed herself flush against him. 

“ _Please, Neal,_ ” she repeated.

So adoring, so overtly provocative.

So that's how he kissed her. His mouth finally covered hers, and pressed, grazed, nibbled her lips until they were full and swollen. He kissed her gently, arousingly, passionately, molding her body to his.

He kissed her all the way. His tongue explored her mouth, sweet and hot and wet and so delicious, while they got rid of the last clothes covering them, greedy hands exploring each other's bodies, until they tumbled on the bed. He kissed the exquisite skin of her throat and collarbone while her delicate fingers wrapped around his length and caressed him to insanity, he kissed her flushed and smooth breasts until she arched her back in need of more, he kissed her between her velvety thighs until she quivered oh so delectably from head to toe, he kissed her smile of pure, hungry delight when he entered her. He kissed her and drank her soft moans and whimpers and his name on her lips as he drove into her, as she clutched to his shoulders, as she moved with him in perfect rhythm, until the pleasure they were building together, hot, urgent, deep, and so _good_ , rendered them both out of breath and desperate for release. As soon as he let go of her mouth, she took his face between her hands, caressing blindly his cheeks, his forehead, his hair, her blurry eyes searching his for anchor. _I love you_ , she gasped between heavy pants and she was so beautiful, he was so near, but he needed to watch her first, he needed her to come for him. _Christa_ , he pleaded, and as if she understood, she threw her head back and climaxed on the keenest, sweetest sob, taking him away with her. 

He kissed tenderly her brow, the bridge of her nose, her temple as they fell asleep afterwards, well-sated and their bodies still joined.

He kissed her shoulder, trailing his mouth along its curve, when he woke up just before dawn and she was still resting peacefully in his arms. She moved in her sleep, scooted closer to him. Her left hand searched for and closed around his.  
Laying his head on the crook of her neck, watching the summer morning sun shed its bright yellow light in the room, he absently drew circles around her ring finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I might retool this last chapter. Although I've been working on this story since May-June last year, I didn't have much time to stand back and rethink this particular one. But I don't know how many weeks (or months) will pass until life allows me to write again, and I wanted to post this fic complete.  
> I still miss my lovelies, sigh. I hope that if you miss them, too, you enjoyed this fic.  
> Thanks for reading!


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